


The Golden Dish

by doctormissy



Series: Prompt Fills and Challenge Entries [10]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Ice Skating, M/M, Prompt Fic, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, World Figure Skating Championships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 04:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9801959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormissy/pseuds/doctormissy
Summary: Katsudon had always been Yuuri’s favourite dish. It had also been a winning dish, and he would have only eaten it had he won a gold medal.A gold medal from the World Figure Skating Championships in Helsinki, for example.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fandom Writing Challenge. The prompt was _food_ , and my prompt was _katsudon_.  
>  Hope you enjoy this piece of meaningless (and hopefully sweet) nonsense :)

Katsudon had always been Yuuri’s favourite dish. It had also been a winning dish, and he would have only eaten it had he won a gold medal. That would seem to contradict each other, but in Yuuri’s case, it no longer did, not since the Russian ray of sunshine had stepped into his life and become his coach. 

The vision of being able to enjoy the dish with Viktor and/or his family had given him the proper motivation and determination in every competition and training preceding it. He had worked harder and tried harder to win. 

He had won few competitions in Japan and nearby countries.

If he had not won, it was Viktor with whom he got to eat katsudon as well, though missing the glory and self-satisfaction in his eyes and mind. It was not that he had not wished his fiancé well, mind you. He may have unknowingly been the one to take him away from active skating career but also the one to bring him back, and he had been more than happy to see him reclaim his world record. 

And if it had not been Viktor, it was Yuri Plisetsky, who would invite both of them for home cooked katsudon pirozhki, which was an adequately delicious substitute for the actual pork cutlet bowl. 

So to sum it up, he had eaten it more often than he had not while he still successfully maintained his current physique and stamina. 

Yuuri had been content with what his life had been like now, even if it meant burning and bleeding ankles, bottom too sore from falling, and leg muscles aching more than they have ever done. 

Being domestic with Viktor, going for walks with Makkachin, and, of course, the regular intake of katsudon had compensated for that. 

Yes, it certainly had had a better taste if he had truly earned it, and it had been even greater if it had been a reward for a world championship gold medal.

A gold medal from the World Figure Skating Championships in Helsinki he, Viktor, Yuri, and all of their rink mates, friends, and opponents took part in, for example. 

That was a competition as prestigious and difficult as the Grand Prix. Equally stressful and exhausting, too. 

 

Yuuri sat in the kiss and cry after his free skate. He breathed heavily. His legs were close to trembling. A drop of sweat ran down his brow. 

Viktor sat tight close to him, with an arm round his waist (everyone knew they belonged together, so what’s the point in being secretive). Though he was competing as well, he prayed for Yuuri’s victory as much as for his own – as long as the gold medal stayed within the family.

This was a world championship. Without Viktor’s support, his anxiety would have overcome him by then. He had always felt like that during the painful, long seconds before the numbers popped up on the table. Even if he knew they were high. 

They were all impatient about the results. He had jumped all but one of his four quads perfectly; the last one had been a minute touch, but he had not fallen. All of his jumps but that one had been impeccable, for that matter. The step sequences had been impeccable. Every single element he had incorporated into his skate had been, according to the audience. He had owned the people. They had clapped along with the song. 

Yuuri had serious chances on winning. He had already been first after his short programme. 

The commentator still spoke, and there still were no numbers. Tick. Tick. Tick. The mental clock in his mind counted every instant a little too loudly. 

Until it stopped, replaced by intense throbbing on the left side of his chest. A large, shining 216.25 appeared on the chart. The number was lower than Viktor’s by 64 hundredths of a point, though it was enough to make Yuuri’s total score jump to 322.32. 

It was not a world record, but it was amazing. Yuuri Katsuki won.

Viktor was close second with a score of 321.59. Yuri Plisetsky came third – and he looked mildly irritated by the fact those two idiots had taken over the gold and the silver position again. They always had, in one way or another.

Viktor flung himself at Yuuri in a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek. He was excited for his fiancé. 

Actually – Yuuri had won a gold medal in a world championship. It had equal significance to a medal from the GPF. Yuuri got to kiss it, and Viktor got to kiss it, and then he got to kiss him, and then again at the altar. They both remembered what Viktor had said in Barcelona last year. They both remembered what winning it had meant. 

Viktor knew Yuuri knew too. His mouth stretched into a blissful beam he had only shown to Viktor in some mornings or walks at the seashore, and his eyes sparkled with realisation close to a complacent smirk. That Yuuri was very different from the man who was sitting next to him just a minute ago. 

That Yuuri was exquisitely happy. And his.

“Congratulations, Yuuri,” Viktor said warmly. He smiled. “Looks like the only thing I had to do as your coach for you to start winning was to step down.”

Yuuri averted his gaze from the screen in front of them and looked at Viktor. He could not really say if he had been joking or not. “Don’t say that, Viktor. You know that doesn’t mean anything but one thing.”

“I finally get to kiss your gold medal.” Viktor’s smile broadened. 

“Um, that, too. But what’s most important – I can eat plenty of katsudon, and it’s gonna be _just for me_.” 

(But of course, he would let Viktor have a bowl of his own. He wouldn’t be able to deny the pleasure to anyone, his soon-to-be husband in particular.)


End file.
